


I'll Take Care of You: Oneshot

by TriggeredKpop



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, BaekYeol - Freeform, Baekhyun - Freeform, ChanBaek - Freeform, Chanyeol - Freeform, Dubious Consent, EXO - Freeform, Forced, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Oneshot, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sociopath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10675689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriggeredKpop/pseuds/TriggeredKpop
Summary: Chanyeol is a sociopath; Baekhyun is notExperimenting on weaker patients is a form of entertainment.





	I'll Take Care of You: Oneshot

**Author's Note:**

> Bruh, this has some non-consent (not actual rape, but alludes to the subject matter) material in here. I didn't go as far as I could have because I imagine some birds and nerds will read it and I don't want to chogiscare anyone away... yet. Run-on sentences are my jams. It's my first fic (of this nature) so anything helpful or suggestions would be ace.

Baekhyun wakes several times in the night, cold, lonely, and covered in sweat. Something he's grown accustomed to. An uninvited playmate. He falls back asleep long enough to have fragments of rapid eye movement and broken whimpers at whatever frightful images plague him in his sleep. He dreams of being in his house again, resting peacefully on a familiar soft mattress and a blanket set he's had since his Naruto years. Above, a somatic presence bores on him, repressing his whole body. It fills his nose, his mouth, feels overflowing into his ears and eyes. He can't lift his head, nor his arms or legs. A paralysis saturation. He tries to call out, but the miasma only sinks deeper into his chest, spreads throughout his anatomy, envelops him in dark caresses. Heart beating too hard, beating too fast, thumping and racing, and then everything is gone. There's only pressure and shadows, the nervousness and stress drifting into hibernation.

Chanyeol, out of bed after hours, hears Baekhyun's panic. Curiosity peaked, he decides to watch with amusement another patient having some sort of anxiety attack. Where's popcorn when you need it? His room is unlocked. They all are on this ward. It’s the saner side of insanity so there aren’t as many precautions, rules, securities. He turns the knob and walks in. This place is a joke, he thinks, as he pulls out Baekhyun's desk chair and watches his anguished but quiet sobbing. He can tell he's trying to call out, but the words are caught in his throat, and he's only able to groan in agony. It’s an interesting show for Chanyeol who decides to get up and stand closer, watching him under the moon light.

The brightness lights up the elder's face so intensely that he can see tears forming at the sides of his eyes. It's a beautiful sight, really. This hyung might be damaged but there are little things that shine brightly and Baekhyun's tears are one of them.

He would feel pity for him if he felt anything at all. Kindness is a lie and most people, deep down, want authenticity; the truth that comes with people like Chanyeol. His truth, Baekhyun’s truth, is a vulgar poem no one could bring themselves to recite, but the broken want to hear it. They need to hear it, to give them hope that “it could always be worse.”

Chanyeol is a sociopath and he’s not sure why he’s even allowed on this ward. Doctor Min-min, as he jokingly calls him without feeling any playfulness at all, says he’s progressing in treatment and it shouldn’t be long before Chanyeol is rehabilitated for the “real world” as they call it, like it’s anymore real out there than it is in here.

At least in here, I can watch this boy suffer in his sleep and no one knows I’m doing it. In here, I can pull this chair up to his bed and have front row seats to Boy-Has-Daddy-or-Mommy-Issues,” he chuckles to himself. “In here, I can lean forward and lick the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Salty. In here, I can place my hand over his mouth and hold… hold… hold… and stop. In here, I have power to give him life as he inhales deeply unaware that I could have just as easily taken it. In here, I can crawl into his bed slowly and gently lay next to him. In here, I can…” But his thoughts are interrupted by Baekhyun’s awareness that he wasn’t alone.

“Wha-“ A swift and firm hand over his mouth playing in harmony with the downpour outside.

“Shh… Baek. You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you."

“Yeol? What are you doing out of bed?” Baekhyun whispers as his laborious breathing begins to quieten.“

Tis I. Your friendly residential sociopath.” The younger makes a show of display with his hands and legs like some first-time magician. 

Baekhyun not amused and embarrassed responds in kind. “You’re not allowed to be in here and you have no right to come in here whenever you feel like it. You need my permission.

“No, I don’t. This isn’t your room. It’s the hospitals. I’m a patient here too. It’s just as much my room as it is yours.”

“No, it isn’t. Get off my bed. Get out of my room.. please.”

“Oh, well since you said it like that.” Chanyeol moves on top of him, long limbs stretching over Baekhyun's small frame. “I’m mostly off your bed now.” A self-satisfied smirk. “Hey, did you know the medicine they have you on for panic attacks actually increases your risk for having one?” Laughing inwardly, the younger bends down, lips and nose touching the sweat of Baekhyun’s nape. “You smell so good Baek.”

The elder begins to call out for help when the younger covers his mouth, scent of handsoap permeating his senses. “Shh… Baekie. I haven’t given you anything to scream about. “And I won’t *kiss* if you let me *kiss* do what I want.” His kisses are delicate, mixed with the institution's mint toothpaste and a cold awareness of where they are: Seoul's third best choice for inpatient mental health.

Chanyeol's chapped lips stay on Baekhyun's as he breathes him in. "Fuck hyung, you taste so good." With that a disgustingly long lick up the side of Baekhyun's face, from chin to temple. Chanyeol's tongue is dry and rough, probably from the meds, and Baekhyun can't take it anymore. He twists and pulls, attempting to free himself or scream – whichever comes first. He can feel his heart rate increasing, worrying that Chanyeol wasn't playing a sick joke about an induced panic attack. 

“Good. Keep trying. Get that heart pumping, push against me.”

The younger thrusts against the elder's hips, arms firmly gripped above his head. "Baekie, can't you feel it? You're starting to get hard." One hand is all Chanyeol needs to defeat any attempted escapes. The other flits and flickers across Baekhyun's arms down to his forehead *kiss*, cheek *kiss*, neck *kiss* composing a melody with tongue-play against shielded skin. Playing Baekhyun's body like a piano, reaching an intermission only to bite and grind against his senior, and matching the octave of the other with his own. 

"Kiss me then I'll release you." Fingers circling just under the tip of Baekhyun's elastic waistline. It's not for pleasure. None of this is stimulating for Chanyeol. He doesn't care about Baekhyun or anyone else on this planet, cadaverous or not. The elder's panicked and fearful response acts as a crescendo to the younger in a way that feeds his own disordered existence.

But Baekhyun doesn't know this and he's fearful. He knows he should listen, it would be the safer thing to do, but he doesn't - he instinctively closes his eyes and forces his lips shut, hoping against everything that maybe Chanyeol will get bored and leave. 

He can't see the sudden change of expression on the other.

“It's so cute how you think this is a game, as if I could lose and you could win." Baekhyun can feel the hot breath inching closer to his face. "Hyung." He says against pressed lips. "Your charming personality. I masturbate to you, your slender fingers, the way your hips move against the looseness of this cheap fabric, when you run your fingers through your hair, or make small mewling noises at night when all horrors and despair feast on you."

Chanyeol takes something out of his pants. Something shiny. And sharp. "I swiped it while doing janitorial work. If you’re good, they let you have privileges. Well, they do it to hire less people really. But if you’re smart you can use it to your advantage. Now, I may not be hard but that doesn’t mean I can’t or won’t rape you. I won’t get any pleasure out of it except to see the terror and panicked look in your eyes, the one you have now. That’s pleasure enough." He must be covered in spit now as many times as the younger has licked, bit, and sucked the various parts of his exposed flesh. "How would you feel to have this knife rip you in pieces from bottom to top?" A motion that seems cliche in movies until you're experiencing it in person, Baekhyun thinks."Would you like that? Huh Baekhyunnie?" A soft hand placed firmly on Baekhyun's chin. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Baekhyun pauses for too long. He feels his heart rate increase, a darkness ascending, deafness save for a ringing unplaced. “Earth to Baekhyunnie.” A saccharine song and a soft but cruel slap to his delicate face. Chanyeol takes the knife and starts cutting through Baekhyun’s pants. “1 Mississippi. 2 Mississippi. You have until the count of 10. 3 Mississippi.”

“I wouldn’t... I don’t want... Yeol, please... don't. Stop."  
“Don't stop? 4, 5, 6 Mississippi.”

Lightning strikes outside illuminating their contrasting frames against the wall of Baekhyun's cramped room, shadows separate absent of thought and misfortune.

"Sometimes you need to be used. Do you understand, Baekie? 7, 8 Mississippi."

"You will swallow obediently and with pleasure my gift to you. 9 Mississippi."

Baekhyun whimpers as the darkness envelops him, any sense of time forgotten. Physically present but mind absent as Chanyeol finishes counting. 

"10 Mississippi."


End file.
